Harry & Minerva
by Awigo500
Summary: A short, abandoned story from the days before HBP. Title says the rest. Kinda.


Summer. A blessed break in students school years. Not everyone had left the towering castle. Headmaster Dumbledore used his office to plot his schemes as usual. The keeper of the keys & grounds, Hagrid, was seen waving his pink umbrella all over the grounds, directing wheelbarrows of soil around, cutting the grass or perhaps he could be seen ripping out bushes here or there. Argus Filch was busy directing endless numbers of house elves. Elves would clean anything if not directed properly, including unused classrooms, secret corridors, cracks between stones out of reach and dishes nobody used.

And in a small office off of the transfiguration room, the deputy headmistress, Minerva McGonnagall was busy pouring herself a shot of brandy after finishing a stack of paperwork. Running a castle was no easy feat. Currently she tried to track down outstanding debts to the school for students who hadn't paid. Rather, parents who hadn't paid. Minerva shut off the lamp and shuffled out of the windowless office, through the transfiguration room and into the hall. The sun was setting as she took a detour from the teachers quarters and instead climbed the stairs to one of the towers. Parador tower. One of the dozens that students staff and many house elves overlooked. The sun was setting. In the west, of course.

Minerva had always been devoted to the school. She took great pride in it's principals and it's success. She had spent thirty seven years at the school, including her education. She would never speak ill of it, which on occasion crossed her passion on improving its education. Few students would have guessed her to be less than fifty, which was hardly true- she was only 48 after all. She'd been riddled by disease in her youth- which didn't help.

The scars no longer looked like scars but wrinkles and other marks of old age. Muggles would consider her over the hill- but this was doubtful as well. Wizards and witches lived an average of 162 years in Britain. She had reached what wizards called 'permanency' which seemed to last until about 110 years. After that, aging took it's course again. Without potions and spells it would then be as if she had simply been a muggle, age 52 or so.

McGonagall had never married, nor had children. She had just a single boyfriend, who had called it off when they left Hogwarts. She was obsessive about her work, so Hogwarts had slowly consumed her. She regretted never having somebody else, albeit not so much as never having children of her own. She tried to ward off the feeling by pretending that her students were all her children, but at times, the professional manner she was forced to keep with them only made the lack seem stronger. Shaking her head, she forced her thoughts to the letter in her pocket and the order meeting tonight.

The professor looked out for a while before pulling a single letter out of her robe. It was addressed to 'Harry Potter, The Shed, 4 Private Drive, Little Whitthing, Surrey.' She knew what the letter contained, but pulled it out all the same.

_Mr. Potter,_

_It has come to our attention that you are currently in debt to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Your current balance is –10,714 Galleons. Please note that all debts must be paid before graduation, or you will not receive a diploma._

_Sincerely,_

Professor M. McGonagall 

_Deputy Headmistress_

The second list contained a five year list of debts- room and board, tuition, and fees. Minerva knew Harry wouldn't respond to the letter. Harry would never get the letter. It would be caught easily in Dumbledore's letter catching charm like the previous four years worth. She knew. In the beginning, she'd been the one who shuffled through his mail and would stop it. Back when Albus Dumbledore had seemed to make sense. He had been brilliant to watch- she had been desperate to help.

Back when she had followed him blindly. Her devotion had slowly crumbled away. Now she couldn't think of a single praise for the man. Once she had been proud to help- but had she been helping or propping up his career?

The man always had business to attend to, yet never Hogwarts business. At first, this had been no problem. But slowly she debated the wisdom of having a politician run a school. Where had the man been when Harry and his friends had been in desperate need of him as Quirrel was trying to steal the sorcerer's stone? Oh that's right. Off in the ministry.

In all his time in hiring professors, he'd always gone against her advice. Quirrel, a studdering idiot, had been an insult to the staff. Lockhart had been worse. "No available canidates!" Dumbledore had said while hiring him. But really, a stick puppet could have taught better than him. She didn't buy that in all the thousands of witches in England, there wasn't one really qualified wizard. She'd taught numerous brilliant students- and she knew several who'd take the job. Resumes came in every year for the position. And Hagrid for Care of Magical Creatures? Charlie Weasley was a dozen times more qualified, and said he'd take the position- but Dumbledore had insisted.

Why? Because Dumbledore surrounded himself with loyalists. Minerva had slowly seen the headmaster's true reason for being head of the school- Recognition. How many students british wizards passed through hogwarts? Most. And all of those prospective workers in the ministry, all those future voters were sure to consider what he said. Years after graduating, they held a fierce loyalty to him. That was it. Albus Dumbledore didn't really give a damn if the students were learning well or the right things.

Which is why Minerva's loyalty to him had disappeared. Minerva McGonagall had been at Hogwarts for thirty years. She'd been deputy Headmistress since old potions master had retired the position to her, before retiring entirely. That was ages ago.

But her real spat with Albus was much more recent. The order of the phoenix had reassembled, and she had rejoined without reservation. It was sad if you thought about it. Twenty years ago the order had been active intercepting death eater strikes and setting up elaborate defenses. They had incessantly been the thorn in Voldermorts side. Now things had changed. Strike after strike was reported but nothing happened in the order. Dumbledore spent the whole time keeping Potter in his own little world. Isolated from reality and the facts and safe from voldermort. Dumbledore claimed his prophesy told all, but McGonagall didn't believe a word of that crap.

Divinitation was a very woolly subject. Prophecies were subject to change. Especially once you knew them. Minerva had a suspicion that grew into a fear and into a sad uncertainty. Harry Potter was going to die. Dumbledore would be right behind him, ready to strike as soon as Harry fell to Voldermort. The prophecy had to just barely not succeed. Then Dumbledore would be the hero.

Why else was Harry returning to private drive? Dumbledore had enough weight in the ministry to allow a student to stay at Hogwarts over the summer. In the castle Harry could study magic under a tutor. What else would let Harry fight the Dark Lord unprepared? Minerva would follow the man no more. Glancing at her watch she stood, ready to face what would probably be her last meeting in the order of the phoenix.

Minerva McGonagall opened the door to number twelve, Grimmuald place, garbed in her best black dress robe. Her hair was neat and curled tightly in its usual bun. She strode past the picture of Mrs. Black without glancing at the curtains. She glanced at her watch and nodded. She slid into the dining room as the second hand crossed twelve, shutting the door behind her.

"Ah, Minerva." Dumbledore said, smiling at her before turning to rest. "That's everyone then. Diggle, if you would read the minutes, please?"

"Certainly." Said Delaus Diggle, popping up from the other end of the table. He chanted off about last meeting while McGonagall hung her cloak on the back of her chair and sat down. The meeting progressed. Snape recounted that Voldermort was still trying to figure out the prophecy. Tonks noted that Harry hadn't been out of the house much, but that nothing new. Dumbledore noted that Harry had sent out a letter, like usual, just the other day.

Finally, Minerva spoke. "What did the letter say, exactly, Albus?"

Dumbledore shrugged. "They all say the same nonsense. We've gone over it, no?"

"This one said nothing different?" Minerva said, giving Albus a piercing look.

"It looked the same." Dumbledore said flatly.

Mierva smiled gently at him "Well, we wouldn't want a detail to be missed by the Order of Harry Potter". She emphasized the name a little. Dumbledore opened his mouth to speak but Minerva cut him off. "Lets review. Snape talks for twenty minutes about potter's prophecy, Tonks describes his every move for another half hour… I'm sorry, did I join the Harry Potter Fan Club by mistake? Or did you all fail to notice that twelve- yes twelve muggles were killed only two days ago?"

Protests flew up all over the table. Dumbledore silenced them with a hand. "You must realize the importance of Harry, no?"

Minerva laughed. "Really? So important that you shove him off in a corner surrounded by muggles? Hogwarts would be safe. And he could be easily tutored. But you chose to leave him ignorant."

Every eye turned to Dumbledore. "Perhaps." He said "The professor here is suggesting that I want Harry dead."

"No Albus" Minerva said. "I'm not hinting at that at all. I'm saying it outright and clearly."

Dumbledore stood quickly, anger written clearly on his face. His chair clattered behind him. Minerva had a great urge to stand as well, but she stayed seated. Dumbledore spoke "Liar. You've sold out to Voldermort. I've suspected this for a while."

"Really?" Minerva said. "I have a few pieces of evidence on you." She turned to look across the table. "Severus?"

Severus Snape looked at her intently. After a moment he spoke. "Nothing I have heard suggests so."

"Get out." Dumbledore spoke, his tone laced with fury. "Now."

Minerva stood. "I will. And I won't return until the order gets its priorities straight. Harry needs to be ready to fight Voldermort."

"I SAID LEAVE" Dumbledore bellowed, fists clenched on the table.

Minerva ignored him. "The order needs to start trying to find where voldermort is staying so we can fight on our" Dumbledore pulled out his wand "own terms." McGonagall finished, forcing herself to look anywhere but at Dumbledore.

"STUIFY" Dumbledore yelled. Minerva couldn't help herself- she turned to watch the red beam coming at her. She watched in shock, however, as the spell slowed down as it neared her. The red beam then began to disassemble, small red cubes breaking into smaller cubes, then changing colors, glowing a bright white and disappearing. Minerva's mouth hung open in shock- along with most of the rest of the table.

Not a word was spoken as she quickly pulled on her cloak and strode out of the room. Dumbledore's action confirmed her suspicions – She needed to get Harry out and safe. McGonagall strode to the entrance hall, and disapparated with a pop. The wards around private drive accepted her, and she found herself in Harry's room. He wasn't there. The room was in a right state- it looked like Harry had been throwing things around. Frowning at the mess and destruction, she walked downstairs.

Harry wasn't in the house, she found after a second. Neither were the Dursleys. McGongall frowned and pulled out Harry's letter. He had been here just a few hours ago… Then she read it. "The shed". She turned and headed out the back door. The shed had a note on it. "You'll never find us now!" it read in a hastily written hand. Shuddering, she opened the door.

It's said that the human mind knows everything it's ever learned, but simply doesn't keep track of it all. The theories of Occlumency began as a wizarding attempt to force the wizard's mind to be able to keep track of everything. It quickly strayed from it's foundation as Legitimacy was developed. It became a study of locking memories away, rather then bringing them to bear. Wizards sought to lock away there worst memories to leave there attackers powerless, as bringing up bad memories would incapacitate a wizard, while allowing the attacker to shift through the rest of the wizard's mind.

Locking away bad memories is the easiest of mental disciplines- as it is aided naturally. Why? Because all the humans who had nothing but bad memories killed themselves many years before. Survival demands a will to live. Often, horrible memories are suppressed away so deeply in a mind that their owners will never find them. The study of occulmency in such wizards will ultimately allow them to remember the memories once more. Harry Potter was no exception. After his arrival back from his fifth year at Hogwarts, he had quickly owl ordered every book on the subject that Flourish and Blots stocked. Which was four tomes of various sizes. One was a beginners practice book, with places to write in memories and expierences. The second and third were a little thick, and were intermediate level. The last was a massive tome (Bloody thing cost ten Galleons) and was the single most complex text Harry had ever read. Half of the words might as well have been French for all Harry understood of them.

Still, he'd practiced and practiced. He tried to follow the 'bubble theory' that the book suggested, by grouping all like memories together and labeling the bubble. The hardest part, of course, was remembering the bubble existed. Forget about the bubble and a whole slew of memories disappeared. Of course, while trying to move memories around, many of them ended up being attached to other memories, attached to other ones… Harry occasionally ran across strange memories of first year transfiguration classes or other obscure, useless memories he'd completely forgotten about.

He also found other bubbles of memories as well. Most were disorganized lumps like his memories of algebra class or a pile of memories of brushing his teeth. June was drawing to a close as Harry found one huge bubble, isolated from all the others. As always when Harry broke into a bubble of unknown memories, he shoved a chair under the latch of the door and laid down on his bed. Then carefully he searched through his mind until he broke into the bubble once more.

The memories were crystal clear. Harry saw a younger version of himself and Dudley scampering through the hall. They entered into the guest room. Vernon was yelling, but the memory didn't focus on that- it was stuck on the belt in Vernon Dursley's hand. From the few SoundBits Harry could hear, Dudley had done something or another wrong. Harry watched as his uncle came forward and slapped Dudley right across the side of the head.

Harry saw something amazing then. Vernon had stumbled backwards, clutching the side of his head. Grunting and furious, his uncle punched at Dudley in the head, only to be thrown back by an invisble force, his nose off kilter and bleeding furiously. Angry, Vernon had turned to Harry- and the memory ended with a rapidly approaching fist coming from his uncle. Harry pulled himself out of the bubble, forcing his mind to reality. It reeled from this new knowledge. It explained a few things. Dudley had been magically warded- but why and by whom? Harry glanced at the clock. Perhaps the rest would be explaied somewhere in the bubble. Harry slid back under.

The rest of the images were blurry. Harry watched as much of his uncle beating him as he could stand for a day and pulled himself back out. Harry shuddered as he glanced over the memories before he crossed the floor to go down for dinner. Vernon was in the kitchen, alone. Harry regarded the man with more hate than usual (if that was possible) but managed to force out a question. "What time's dinner, Uncle Vernon?"

His uncle looked up, and shot a question back "You've written, haven't you? To your friends, eh?"

Harry rolled his eyes. His uncle asked him every other freaking day now. It was annoying as hell. "Yea. Last night. So when is it?"

Vernon smiled then, like he'd just won the lottery. "You won't be having any, boy."

Harry frowned and looked around. "Where's Dudley and Aunt Petunia?" at this Vernon laughed.

"Safe. Safe from all your freaky little friends."

"What are you talking about?" Harry asked, but he got no response but his uncle's laughter. Vernon grabbed him by the collar and marched Harry outside, and into the large green garden shed behind the house.

Vernon slammed shut the door behind them and switched on the light. Immediately harry noticed it was different. There was no more lawnmower, no rakes or shovels. There was… There was no more as a hard large object hit Harry I the back of the head, just as it reeled at the thought of what was now housed in the shed- a torture chamber.

(Authors note: Those weak at heart may not want to read this section (Contains Abuse))

Harry woke, to pain. His mouth was gagged, his hands and feet locked down. Bolted down, is a better way to say it. His body ached as his uncle slammed and beat him. His whole body was covered in bruises- his wrists bled from where he struggled against the U bolts holding them down. Harry tried to pull up his magic. Anything that would let him free. But it didn't respond. Nothing happened.

Finally, when Vernon was too tired, he sat back and began opening boxes. He pulled out a propane torch, and lit it, laughing. Harry tried to faint, anything to escape the pain. But his damned strong composition kept him awake to feel the burning as Vernon burned words onto his chest. All the while, Vernon yelled and insulted him. He also kept a running dialogue of the time "Only 55 hours of pain till you die, Potter!" The blessed moments that Harry fell unconscious were kept short by Vernon throwing buckets of water at his face.

For what seemed like an eternity, Harry was in hell. Slowly he tired. Uncle Vernon seemed not to care that he was growing tired- the man worked through the night, obsessively trying to inflict pain in every possible way. Then finally, Uncle Vernon stopped. Harry became aware, and dragged himself above the pain. Vernon was holding a knife before him "Say …bye to … CUT children… 'ope you bleed…"

But Harry blacked out one last time, praying that death would take him.

Minerva pulled open the shed door, with her wand out in her hand. The evening sky didn't let nearly enough light into the shed. "Lumos" she muttered. Nothing happened. Not a good sign. Feeling inside, she found a switch for the electric light by the door. The gruesome scene before her would haunt her for the rest of her life. A naked, mutilated, burnt and battered body stood before her. She ran over to him, and checked for a pulse. It was still there. She grabbed a wrench off the floor, not stopping to shudder that it was drenched in blood. After a few moments his hands were free, then a moment later his feet. She cast about for his cloths but finding nothing she threw her cloak over him, dragged him out of the shed. Praying with all her might that she could do it, Minerva apparated them to Hogsmede.

"Mobicilarbus!" McGonagall cried, drained from sending two people such a distance. She tried to run, but ended up jogging back to the castle, with the body of Harry in front of her, skimming just above the roadway. She stopped at the first available floo, and crashed into the medical ward of Hogwarts a moment later.

Madam Pomfrey was home for the summer, but Minerva was hardly ignorant. She grabbed a half dozen potions from the cabinet in her office and forced them down Harry's throat. Which is easier said then done, considering she had to sit an unconscious person upright, and make sure they didn't cough it up or choke to death. In the end she was covered in recovery potions and sore and tired. She rubbed her eyes, with every intention to get up off the floor of pomfrey's office and go get help. Maybe Dumbledore even. But her eyes never reopened and she slumped down next to Harry, blissfully asleep.

Pain. That's all that Harry could think of as his mind reactivated. Well, besides hunger from the past four days, almost. It was dark. In an almost futile effort, Harry attempted one last time to summon his magic. He knew it wouldn't come- Vernon had gone on and on about how helpful some Lord Volderthiny's men had been in providing him with magical prevention wards and the like. Harry considered it was his last laugh that Voldermort would kill the Dursleys anyway.

But for once, the magic returned. If harry hadn't spent years of his childhood healing himself from Vernon's beatings he might not have been able to manage it. But since he'd learned he was a wizard, Harry had realized the skill and perfected it. Cuts disappeared. The burns welted away. Bruises were gone in a flash. Harry felt his feeling go back to normal. His hands were free, he noticed, and his feet- although something was resting across his chest…he felt it- hair.

Long hair. What the hell? It wasn't Vernon. And come to think of it, this wasn't the shed. The floor was definitely not cheap plywood, but stone. Hogwarts! Everything clicked into place. He'd been saved, once again. Harry felt around on the floor, trying not to disturb whoever it was sleeping on him. He was fairly successful at this too- until he accidentally knocked over a bottle nearby.

Whoever it was stirred. Harry kept one hand on her shoulder as she sat up and shook her head. "Mrrpht"

Harry was not prone to speaking well and he tried to say a lot really fast "Hey, uh look-I mean, I dunno who you are-but just ah, I want to ah, you know, ah thank you for like, um, you know and". Harry stopped at the muffled snickering in response, and instead pulled her in and kissed her, as square on the lips as he could by feeling. His arms looped around and pulled her into as much of a hug as he could manage- but overbalanced, and slipped. The two, held together by Harry, fell Harry first back onto the floor. Harry let go of her and they broke apart. 'Not bad' was the last thought that ran through Harry's mind before…

"Interlumen!" Harry heard, and the room was bathed in light. Harry blinked a few times. His face burned as he looked at a highly amused professor McGonagall. Harry opened his mouth, but couldn't think of anything to say, so he shut it. McGonagall had a brief fight against laugher- but laughter won, even if she tried to gag them back. If you were frying eggs on Harry's face, they'd have burned instantly. Harry turned away, pulling the cloak tighter around him.

Finally, McGonagall found her voice. "Alright- heh- Well, we've got more important matters."

Harry turned around, "Right. Um, what matters?"

Minerva blinked. "Well your health, for starters. You shouldn't be standing up, let alone walking around."

Harry shrugged. "I'm fine, really professor."

"Really?" She asked "Sure that you've got everything?"

"Yep. All healed" Harry said, dismissively.

CUT-------- 

McGonagall furrowed her brow. Regrowing body parts was relatively impossible, if Alestor Moody'' false leg meant anything. "All your limbs are fine?"

Harry, on the other hand, was getting frustrated. "Arms, check, legs check, head, check. I'm good."

McGonagall cleared her throat. "You missed one potter."

Harry gaped at her "What?"

Minerva sighed. How daft could he be? "Think Potter. Here's a hint: I don't have one!"

Harry frowned. A hand crept into one of the robe pockets. His eyes went wide and he spun around to face the wall once again. He split the cloak at the seam and looked down, before snapping it back shut. Harry wrenched his eyes shut and shook his head. No. I couldn't possibly be… Harry shuddered, as the image of Vernon with a knife filled his mind.

A hand on his shoulder did nothing to bring him back to reality. He stumbled along through the castle to Minerva's room. She tried to talk with him but he ignored her, and everything. Well except food. Finally she found she could blackmail him with food. She tried to console him, but it did little "Half the world doesn't have them Harry, you'll be just fine" or "You didn't even notice until I told you" bounced right off of him.

---CUT 

Minerva shook her head at this new information. How could possibly be healed already? There was no way he could have done it without magic, of course, but even magical healing has its limits too.

"Mr. Potter, are you suggesting that you completely healed yourself overnight?"

"Eh, no. This mourning" Harry said opening the door to the medical ward. "Where's pomfrey?"

"Vacation" McGonagall answered shortly.

"Ahh. So where will I be staying now?" Harry asked as they ventured into the medical ward.

"Well, I'm not sure. Maybe you should know a few things before you decide." McGonagall said.

"Well tell me" Harry said. McGonagall sighed and crossed into the hall, Harry following.

"Until recently I've followed the headmaster and agreed with his plans and his plots within plots. I've always well, idolized the man, if you will." Harry nodded in response and motioned for her to continue. "I've always believed that his meathods would, well be justified. That the ends would justify the means."

"Right" Harry said. "Spit it out." Minevra shot him a stern look. "Come on! You're babbling! Talk!"

"Fine" McGonagall said, stopping midway through the charms corridor and turning to face Harry. "Albus Dumbledore is a greasy old bastard, who among other things, wants you dead so he can be the hero. Clear?"

Harry was more than a little shocked at her outburst. "Why?"

"Why what, Potter? For power obviously. For a little bigger spot in the history books. To satisfy the man's infinite ego."

"Pardon me saying so, but" Harry said, still in shock "What do you have behind this?"

McGonagall laughed. "Seventeen years of examples, Potter. Take this one- How do you like being famous?"

"I dunno, it's ok" Harry said

"If you were offered your name on chocolate frogs, would let them?" McGonagall asked

"No way" Harry said, shuddering.

"Well there it is. One example."

"Huh? How's that an example?" McGonagall asked

"Simple, Potter. You detest fame for two reasons, first, it bothers you. Why? Because you grew up with the Dursleys, and you have too small of an ego."

At this Harry laughed. "Too small? How can it be too small?"

McGonagall pulled open the portrait of an elk to the teacher's lounge and entered, "Simple Potter. It's too small when you shy away from being proud of your accomplishments. Now the second reason you don't like fame is this- when was the last time an owl delivered you any fan mail?"

Harry frowned and shrugged. "Never got any."

"Isn't that odd to you" McGonagall said, dropping into a chair by the empty fire "Your friend Hermione gets a stack of hate mail when her name is published next to yours once in the Daily Prophet… But you don't find it odd that you don't get any?"

Harry shook his head "Wow. Well- wait what's all this to do with anything?"

"Who blocks your letters, Potter? Take a guess."

"How do you know it's Dumbledore? Couldn't it be the ministry?" Harry suggested

"I know it's Dumbledore, or rather somebody working for him. I know because I did it for years." McGonagall said. "Don't you see?"

"So what do you want? Dumbledore's out for fame, what do you want?"

"Nothing Harry" McGonagall said, suddenly surprised. "Why would I"

"That's the same answer he'd give me. You're a lot like him. Why break with him? Don't deny it, this isn't just about me. What's I it for you? Why should I discredit Dumbledore- that's what you'll have me do in the end, isn't it?"

McGonagall fell silent, staring at Harry. Harry felt uncomfortable and stared around the lounge instead. It was similar to a common room- except it had dormitories for teachers rather than students, and the common room had a long table in it, for meeting, on would guess. The fire was empty and cold. At last Harry forced himself to look back to McGonagall. She looked unsure of herself now. Finally she spoke, softer this time, but clearly and with feeling.

"I don't know where to begin…" She looked down and sighed. "Albus is a great politician. I've always begrudged him being Headmaster, I suppose. He never does any of the work, and when he does it's motivated, always motivated by his never-ending schemes."

McGonagall sighed "So that's it, I should say. He's the figurehead of the school, taking credit for it's work, when he in fact does none."

"Not that you would want him too" Harry countered. McGonagall shrugged and sat back. Harry started thinking.

"Who checks my mail now?" Harry asked

"Delacus Diggle." McGonagall said. "Why?"

"Maybe you could convince the headmaster to set it back to you, and then" Harry trailed off as McGonagall laughed and shook her head. "What" Harry asked.

"Last night, there was a Order meeting." McGonagall paused "I told the order about, well what I think of Dumbledore. He wasn't pleased." She shuddered at the memory.

"Err what happened?" Harry asked, eyes wide.

"Well I stated my case, and then Albus… then Albus…" McGonagall trailed off. She looked about to cry. Harry grabbed her hand across the table, trying to be reassuring. McGonagall recovered a little then spoke without a stutter. " He tried to stun me. But something stopped it. The spell went all weird before it hit.."

"Weird how" Harry asked

"Well, it stopped and split apart into" McGonagall started

"Glowing cubes" Harry finished smiling. "So it worked. That's good."

"You did that?" McGonagall said "How…"

Harry smiled. "No magic out of school, right? But most potions don't require a wand do they?"

"No…" Minerva said "But what was it? I've never heard of such a thing! You should have seen Dumbledore's face- he was in total shock!"

Harry laughed. "It's pretty cool isn't it? Sends magical aid to anyone acting on your behalf- called the draught of lealtad."

"Where on earth did you find that, Potter?"

"It was in a school book somewhere, Proffessor." Harry said. Which was partially true, as Harry's version of Monte Poste Potions was the schools, which he had held on permanent loan from the school since second year. But Harry steered the conversation away before she could find that out. "It takes the power of the drinker and sends it off to defend your allies when they need it."

"For such a powerful potion, why isn't it used more often?" McGonagall asked. Harry laughed. "Look at the Hogwarts library! There must be a million potions in there that you could use… Most wizards just don't. For example, there's a potion that makes every door that you want open at a thought. Incredibly cool, but I, nor most other wizards have bothered to brew it."

McGonagall considered this. "Well, it just seems too valuable to ignore."

Harry laughed "Yea, seems that way now to you, but it doesn't protect the drinker any- in fact they lose some of their power temporarily. It seems useful to you because it saved your a-er you, but it takes a year to simmer! Few people have the patience."

McGonagall sighed. "Well, they never were my forte, potions. I prefer wand work."

"Of coarse" Harry said. "But there's this annoying little law…"

"Yes… but do you really trust all those second years, running around and doing magic unsupervised? I hardly trust the graduates…" They laughed and Harry suggested breakfast. He stood to go to the kitchens when McGonagall shook her head. With a few waves of her wand, dishes silverware and napkins and then food appeared on the table between them. They ate in silence for a moment and Harry considered everything that had happened. McGonagall broke him out of his brooding with a hesitant voice.

"So, how is it? I mean, it's nothing to Molly Weasley's conjuring, but…"

Harry laughed "It's quite good, quite good." She made a half smile and turned to her own. "I get spoiled to often by never having to conjure food up… I daresay the eggs are a little burnt…"

Harry just rolled his eyes. "They're fine. Now who 'has to small of an ego'?"(A/N or should I say Eggo! HAHAHA Runs away from readers who pelt him for making pathetic puns)

Once Harry was full, and McGonagall was busy pretending she didn't want another scone, Harry was confident that Dumbledore was as McGonagall said. If her arguments hadn't fully convinced him then the potion's affects had. McGonagall stood finally, getting out of reach of the scone, saying "Well Potter, I guess- HEY!" McGonagall yelled as she got pelted by a scone.

"One more!" Harry said

"Now, really Potter." McGonagall said, fending against another scone with a hand. Of course, the basket of scones was automatically charmed to refill, so Harry grabbed another.

"C'mon, they're good! Have a scone!" McGonagall grabbed the next scone out of the air and frustrated, threw it back. The air was soon thick with flying scones, which culminated with Minerva banishing a mound of scones to bury Harry after he shoved one down the back of her robes.

Harry finally admitted defeat, but swore revenge. Mcgonagall just told him that the next time he tried anything like it, she'd drowned him. In maple syrup of course. (A/N Isn't that _sweet_?)

"So." McGonagall said, picking the last of the scone out of her hair, and clearing away the piles of scones "I have some work to do. Just stay clear of Hagrid and you'll be fine. Filch is around but Dumbledore avoids him, and whenever Argus sees Albus he startes yacking about using chains and whips for punishment…"

"Why Hagrid?" Harry asked "He's a good friend!"

"He's also in extreme debt to Dumbledore. Probably a life debt for what it's worth. Besides, he won't hear a word against the Headmaster even if you tried to convince him."

"So what are you doing?" Harry asked,

"Just paperwork Potter. Nothing exciting."

Harry shrugged "I'll help."

McGonagall shook her head to the negative. "No you won't. You'll find a house elf and have him get your stuff from Private Drive. They'll probably be in the charms classrooms today. I'll be in my office if you need anything."

So they parted ways at the elk portrait and Harry headed down the well known hallways to charms. Sure enough, a small army of house-elves were all busy scrubbing, waxing, cleaning and the like. Harry called one of the elves over.

"Elidine at your service, sir" The elf squeaked, delighted to be chosen to do a special task.

"I need my luggage brought from my house. It's um Number four, private drive, Little whitething, surrey. Could you get all the magical stuff in the house?"

The elf nodded it's head vigorously.

"Good. Take care with the potions in the bookcase and make sure to look under the loose floorboard in the smallest bedroom."

The elf disappeared. Harry realized that he had no idea where the elf was going to bring it all too, but after the elf didn't reappear for a minute Harry left to find Minerva. Her office was full of paperwork. A dozen owls sat on a perch by the window, waiting. Harry scanned the stack of unsealed letters. They were debt notices to the school. Flipping through, Harry found Neville owed almost 300 Galleons, mostly in damages to school equipment.

Harry was about to abandon waiting for McGonagall when Harry felt the oddest feeling. Torrents of power were flowing out of him. He wasn't tired, but he sat anyway, trying to get a grip on the feeling as the flow of magical energy ebbed away.

So McGonagall was meeting with Dumbledore. Harry hoped she was alright. Maybe she got a spell in on Dumbledore… He brooded on the subject until the fireplace roared to life and McGonagall stepped through. He raised his eyebrows, asking for an explanation. She looked furious, and didn't bother to respond, instead, she sat down and began stuffing the letters into envelopes.

Harry moved over and began to put the letters in while she stamped her wand on the letters, and they addressed themselves. They worked in silence until the stack was gone. Then Harry decided to ask his question. "Professor, I uh, found an elf and, it went off to get my stuff."

"Good" She said, opening a filing cabinet and pulling out another stack of parchment.

"But I don't know where the elf put it…" Harry continued "It never came back."

"I know." McGonagall said, sitting back, and finally looking at him. "The elf went to Dumbledore for permission. So we talked, and he allowed you to stay."

"Really?" Harry said, impressed

"He merely said he was not going to give you a room at Hogwarts."

"Then how can I stay?" Harry asked. "If… wait. You mean your room?"

"I'm not pleased, but it's the letter of the law." McGonagall said, before turning to her work, which occupied the two of them into the evening. It was almost 8:00 on Harry's watch when McG called it a day. "Sheesh, professor," Harry said as they climbed up to the Elk portrait "Do you do ever take a break?"

"I am simply dedicated to my work here. That's all Mr. Potter." Harry winced.

"Please! You've known me for five years now! The name's Harry."

"Calling one by a Surname denotes respect and professionalism."

Harry sighed. "Please?" He asked

"Fine, Harry, if it's so important."

"Thanks" Harry said, opening the portrait for her. The trick with the portrait was to pretend to have a bow and arrow and the Elk would run off, opening the portrait. Harry followed her in and McGonagall conjured another magical meal, which to Harry's dismay didn't lead to any food wars.

"So what should do you want to be called" Harry asked.

"Professor McGonagall."

Harry counted on his fingers "Pro-Fess-Or-Mc-Gon-A-Gall. Seven syllables." McGonagall merely sighed and turned back to her meal.

"Proffessor M. McGonagall, Deputy Headmistress, Hogwarts" Harry took a breath.

"What is it Harry?"

"Hey! No interrupting me! I was just going to say: Proffessor M. McGonagall, Deputy Headmistress, Hogwarts, which room is it?"

"I'll show you" McGonagall said, rolling her eyes.

"Want any help cleaning up Proffessor M. McGonagall, Deputy Headmistress, Hogwarts?" Harry asked, saying the name as fast as he could.

"Harry!" McGonagall said

"yea" Harry asked, before adding "Proffessor M. McGonagall, Deputy Headmistress, Hogwarts?"

"Stop that!" she said, clearing away the food

"Stop what Proffessor M. McGonagall, Deputy Headmistress, Hogwarts?"

She gave him a stern look and headed for a set of stairs. Harry followed her up to a door. She tapped the handle with her wand and walked in, Harry following. The room was lit by a charm already and appeared to be some sort of study. Bookcases lined three walls, all overflowing. There were a few chairs, two new ones and one worn in one. "The living room" McGonagall said. Harry's collection of cauldrons were on a corner table.

McGonagall showed him the unornate bathroom and then the bedroom, which forced Harry to fight back a laugh. The laugh won. "PINK?" he gauffed at McGonagall who was turning the same color as the walls, bed, carpet, drapes, dresser and everything else. She turned to him, deadly serious, face burning red. "If word of this ever leaks out Potter, you'll die under the crutatcious."

"Wow!" Harry said finally, finding suppressing his laughter. "Ron doesn't come close to this! And I thought that was extreme…"

Harry went over to the only non pink item in the room (His trunk) and pulled out a set of robes.

"Grab your wand, Harry."

Harry pulled it out from the trunk as well, and put in McGonagall's outstretched hand. She pointed her own wand at it's tip and barked "Redemanious! Here you are, Harry, it should be immune to the ministry wards now."

"Thanks, I-sweet that's just" So Harry left to take a shower, stuttering. He took off the thick cloak he'd been wearing and tossed it aside. His magical healing had left him with a boatload of scars all over. Harry had locked all the memories away, but he knew why they were there. Voldermort had hired Vernon Dursley. Vernon had talked about all the things he'd been given- like a set of stones that blocked out any connection to magic between them. Harry sighed. He was almost tempted to revisit the memories- some of the scars looked odd- but Harry declined in the end, and forced himself into a scalding shower.

Feeling better, or at least cleaner, Harry crossed back to the pink room with a dim light glowing from his wand. He grabbed a pillow off the bed and after brooding for a bit, fell asleep on the fluffy pink rug.

It would be the last night he didn't simply collapse on the bed and fall asleep. Over breakfast, McGonagall informed Harry that his stay at the castle was for one reason alone- so he could train up to defeat He-whose-name-must-always-be-hyphenated. They worked up an available list of trainers, and crossed them all out. McGonagall hadn't been happy, but the only ones that were both available and trustworthy were Fred and George Weasley.

So each morning at six, Fred would meet Harry by the elk, and they'd head over to the room of requirement. Here, Fred would assign Harry any sort of physical task, until George arrived with breakfast at about eight. They practiced spells for a while, which morphed into dueling, where Fred and George were more than a match. After advanced spells, Harry was sat down and forced to discuss wizarding law and politics with two people who knew every law they'd ever broken and every politician they'd ever crossed the wrong way.

In Harry's free time, he poured over potions textbooks, attempting to re-create the Dasham potion. Hundreds of wizards from all time had searched for the potion's right proportions and exact measurements. The potion was a magical power enhancing potion, of legendary proportions. Many wizards disputed it's existence. If you failed, you lost what was most dear about yourself, and gained nothing. If the potion was brewed properly, you lost what was most dear about yourself, what was secondly most dear to yourself and gained no less than sixteen times your magical power.

Voldermort had attempted making the potion, but it had failed. Know the red eyes? That's where they came from. He'd lost his normal human ones forever, all for naught. Others lost their intelligence, some their courage and others lost arms or legs. There were plenty of clues- Harry figured he had half of the proportions right- but the other half eluded him. The twins encouraged him(and suggested worridly that he keep his hair from greasing up), but McGonagall had nothing but scorn when he told her about it.

"Potions, Harry? Good to see you're up to working. What's the potion?"

Harry scratched a few lines on the paper in front of him before answering. "Ever hear of the Dasham Potion?"

Instantly her approving smile disappeared, replaced by a fierce scowl. "Yes. And I wish I never had. It's my father's life study. Talks of nothing but it…"

"Really?" Harry said excidedly, sitting up. "Can I meet him?"

"Are you kidding? The man's wasted away his whole life, 100 years on some stupid potion! You'll not get involved with that nonsense!"

Minerva greatly regretted saying that in the next few days, as Harry talked of nothing else around her. Finally she gave in. "FINE! You win Harry. I'll let you meet him, as long as you shut up about it, already!"

"When?" Harry asked

"The week before term starts. It's just as well. Dumbledore will be underfoot and the twins will be heading off to start that joke shop of theirs in time for the first Hogsmede visit."McGonagall said.

"Thanks, Proffessor M. McGonagall, Deputy Headmistress, Hogwarts!" Harry said, grabbing her in a hug.

"And don't call me that!"

"Then what?"

"Minerva, ok? Just Minerva."

Harry grinned "Alright, Just Minerva, if that' s what you want."

"Yes."

"Wizards chess?" Harry offered, as she seemed to be in an agreeable mood. Harry had figured out that if you took your mind off the game for a moment you'd lose, instantly. After a little practice, Harry hoped he could play Ron once term started and destroy him. She agreed after a moment and Harry flash summoned the board. Flash summoning apparatated objects to you instead of having them fly through the air to you. The downside is the noise and the flash of light as they appear with a…

BANG

"HARRY! For the last time! Just get up and get it next time!" Minerva jumped out of her seat and yelled, almost as loud as the bang. "For god's sake, it was only two tables away, Harry!" Harry listened to her diatribe for a few moments. He sighed. There was no way to stop her once she got going. A silencing charm? Harry wondered if her yelling would simply break through a silencing charm. Then with a grin, Harry stood up grabbed her around the waist. She sputtered to a halt. Before she could stay "What?" Harry dived in, meeting her lips with his own.

The silence was only disturbed by Harry's heart beating in his chest like he'd run a marathon. He pulled back, and grinned at a horribly flustered McGonagall. She looked positively cute as she tried to set a face and say something, but couldn't decide. Harry leaned in again. She blinked but didn't respond till he kissed her again. Harry felt two hesitant arms fold around his back. Harry dropped his glasses on the table next to the forgotten chess set, and pulled back in again.

Fred Weasley had stood outside the stupid portrait long enough, so he made an imaginary bow ad dropped inside. He walked over to the table by the fire- which was littered with a chess set, and a bunch of dishes. As fred got closer, he noticed somethig else- two pairs of glasses on the edge. He picked up McGonagalls and twirled them. Where would they have gone on such short notice? Fred spun around to find George but stopped dead. There in of the gigantic easy chairs by the fire, was both Harry and McGonagall, still fully dressed, snuggled together. Fred normally could hold back a laugh, but the surprise of the scene prevented the instinct.

Harry's eyes fluttered open… TBC


End file.
